


The Woods

by PolarPhantom



Category: Original Work
Genre: But I have nostalgia for it, F/M, Got a decent grade, I actually wrote this in my spare time, I may tighten it up at some point, I wonder what you guys think?, I wrote this 10 years ago or something, but decided to hand it in to be marked for my Gothic Course, so I am happy there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22932160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolarPhantom/pseuds/PolarPhantom
Summary: Inspired by Angela Carter and Ico.This is a trunk story. That is, I dug it up after I wrote it years ago and decided "Hey. I can share this." So yeah. Keep that in mind.
Kudos: 1





	The Woods

He ran. Sweat dripped down his brow.

He ran. His breath came heavy.

He ran. His legs creaked and moaned.

He ran. His heart seized with fear.

After what felt like a brief eternity, he could no longer hear the shouts, the cries, the pious prayers in the air. He was alone. And for him there was no future.

His body stopped shaking from the physical exertion; a brief respite. The fear of death had left him. But in its absence grew a new fear. It was not a natural fear, but more a sense of quiet despair, greater and more terrible than oblivion. He suddenly became aware of his situation. In the face of death, logic abandons you; Mathematics and Philosophy is useless against flames and pitchforks. Not everyone welcomes the return of the senses, for it forces them to confront and acknowledge their new reality. Everything had changed; he could never return. He could never take a wife, have a family and, in his winter years, be surrounded by grandchildren. That was what all of the people of his village strive for, their raison d’être. And that had all been taken from him.

He was an abomination, a scourge, a disease, and all this through no fault of his own, save for being human. Even were it not for much longer. The minor wound on his arm was enough proof for his fellow villagers. Teeth marks. The hunter of the woods’, slaughterer of livestock, even his howl is unclean. Through his bite he plants a piece of himself, like a seed, and from it sprouts hair that grows on the inside of the body, spreading through the flesh, until the victim becomes carnivore incarnate; a tragic irony. And so they are driven away, into their habitual home, the woods, where all other outcasts lay.

It was dark, no moon shone through the thick blanket of leaves. He could feel the decaying roots, the mushrooms parasitically sprouting from the lifeless husks and the dead, dried leaves crunching under his feet.

He felt it. It stung, it burned and he felt light headed. 

Desperation. He needed rest, without it he is vulnerable to his foes. But where? Where is safety in this expansive tomb? He looks around himself hopelessly. Finally, reluctantly, his legs pressed forward, as sinners carry their loads.  
___

Weak, thirsty, hungry.

No more. He collapses in agony, and his face feels cold. He lifts his head up. Water! He has just come across a river, sparkling, irradiated in its own light, despite there being no moon. Dumbfounded and delighted, he drinks from the river, letting its cool, crisp liquid flow through him. A miracle! His body is relieved! Strength flows back into his legs, his head no longer swims, his fiery hunger pangs are quenched and his wound… could it be? It feels cleansed. He touches it; it is no longer inflamed. Could the curse be lifted? Hope fills him to the brim; perhaps there is a chance that not all is lost? He halts his thoughts; the village would never welcome him back, no matter how much evidence he  
presents. But then he thinks of the river; maybe there is a settlement along it, one that would adopt him as its own? Claim he lost his way after his village was ransacked by ogres? He’d need to conceal his arm before entering, however. He stands up, having received all the nourishment he needs to continue, and follows the flowing water, hoping to find somewhere to rest for the night so that he may journey on the morrow. Along the riverbank he sees many flowers, plants shooting up, living with mushrooms side by side, symbiotically

The river’s inner light illuminates the path, and eventually the young man comes to a place that he certainly wasn’t expecting. The river flowed into a small, hollowed out tree, much smaller than the black ones everywhere else in the forest which towered above him. It was round, had a vaguely brown hue about it and for some reason reminded him of a hut in which grandmothers might live. The hollow tree was dead, yet somehow kind and inviting. Curious, he stepped inside an opening. And his breath was stolen.

A lake. A gargantuan lake which must have stretched for miles, glimmering like a million diamonds. The walls of the tree-hut were all around, an enclosure. In the distant ceiling was a circular viewing hole, which showed a now star-sprinkled and half-moon bearing sky. Around the lake were plants unlike anything he had ever imagined; lilacs of the most sublime blue, lilies dressed in satin silk, ivy curling around the lake and the flowers like a friendly, fat, contented snake, and mushrooms, many, many mushrooms, large and boisterous and juicy, their voluptuous bodies making his mouth water. He grabs them; they easily dislodge themselves from the ground, almost willingly. Never had he eaten anything so satisfying, though it could be said that he did not exactly have a wide choice in his diet. He ate his fill in large quantities of mushrooms and laid down, the ground soft and welcoming as velvet. He slept and he dreamt and snored.

____

He awoke. He looked around in horror.

The lake, the river, the plants, the hollow tree. All gone.

He was lying on a thick patch of grass in the middle of the woods. Had that wonderful place existed? It must have done. It must!

The Sun shone through the trees, separated into ethereal curtains by the branches and leaves. Beautiful flowers and mushrooms, similar to those by the lake, were scattered around, but he was not hungry.

He turned onto his stomach, and pushed himself up. When he got to his feet, however, his knees buckled; his face was planted in the grass. His body was limp, dead weight. But he had to get up eventually. He clenched and stretched his fists tentatively to make them manoeuvrable again. Slowly, carefully, he eased himself upright, putting his weight on his knees, lifting his left leg up and quickly standing up. He kept his feet far apart and his arms out to balance himself. He legs shook, but they eventually steadied.

He looked around him, trying to figure out where he could go now. There were many paths around him, but which should he choose? He had no river to guide him. He must take a chance. He chose a path and walked along it.

The mischievous branches hung low, smacking him on his head; no matter how many times he tried to avoid them, they always managed to hit him. Along the path flowers bloomed. The same flowers from the lake. He wondered if these plants littered the entire woods. He was ignorant, however, that among the paths he could have chosen, the one he was walking was the only path on which these flowers bloomed.

He continued to walk despite the jesting trees and eventually came to a clearing empty of trees.

But there was something else there.

The breeze was cool. The grass emerald green and softer than velvet. A rose bush grew in the middle, thorns sharp enough to pierce the soul. And in front of it she lay.

Her skin was as pale as a dilapidated church, so pale that she seemed to glow softly. Her hair was short, a silvery grey, soft, delicate and fleeting as twilight. The ends of her hair were split, frayed, her split ends like fractured gossamer webbing. Her gown was thin and long, going down to her knees. The gown had an ethereal quality about it, as though it was spun from threads of liquid light or solid wind. She lay, still as a lake.

A godly awe, dread, crept into his soul, and crushingly cold water swept over his body and seeped into his skin, his bones becoming brittle. He approached her, warily. He knelt down in front of her, and leaned forward. He could hear no breathing. Could she be-

She stirred! He backed away, quickly, his heart hammering. Her eyelids fluttered, and slowly, her eyes opened. They possessed the deepest, richest brown he had ever seen. Her eyes met his, and she suddenly shot up, retreating to the rose bush. She was trembling, her eyes unmoving, her hands gripping the grass. She was terrified. And over him came an ocean of crushing sorrow, that she must fear, and fear him. So young too, yet a few years older than the boy, it seemed to him.

Finally, with difficulty and a little resistance, probably due to lack of practice, he spoke to her. “H-hello,” He clumsily began. “Who are you?”

No response.

“Are you alright?”

No response.

“Can you speak?”

Her lips, a blue grey, moved, and from them uttered sounds that were incomprehensible to his ears. They did not even resemble words, but instead sounded like the wind blowing, the water gushing or the sun rising in the morning sky.

And so there was a gulf that separated them, larger, more vast than seas of water or stars.

Knowing words will do no good, he was, unsurprisingly, at a loss at what to do. He briefly entertained the notion of leaving, but soon expelled it; he could not simply abandon her. But then, what to do? He looked at his arm and saw the scar where the beast had wounded him. It no longer burnt, but the mark was still there. He touched it. Is he truly free? He looked once again at the girl. She had barely moved; she no longer trembled, and she had crossed her arms around her legs, holding them against her chest.

He held his hand out to her. She just sat there staring blankly at it, but suddenly something behind her eyes changed, and she started staring at him. He wondered what could have caught her attention. He follows her line of sight and realises she was looking at the mark. He uncomfortably turns around to keep it out of view, and she simply started staring at the floor.

It did not look like she was planning to move any time soon. How long has she been here?

He decided, albeit with hesitation, to spend the night in the clearing, and gathered food and kindling.

He ate berries and mushrooms that evening, but still she did not move. He had even offered her food, but she remained statuesque. Worried for her wellbeing, he gathered some of the food to the side of the clearing for her to take. As nightfall approached, he lit the fire by rubbing sticks together. He was surprised at how quickly the fire started, which was much easier than he had expected. The girl began staring at the fire – he watched, the light dancing in her eyes dreamlike and unsubstantial. The sight of her illuminated pupils drained the young man’s energy; he collapsed into blackness.

The light was blurred and unnoticed. As his senses returned to normal he turned to his side, and saw something he wasn’t expecting. The girl was lying down next to him, and as he continued to look at her and him, he realised she had her arms around him. He looked at the fire, seeing that it had fizzled out during the night. She must be holding him for warmth.

He got gently removed himself from her arms and stood. He looked over to where he placed the food for her, and saw that the food was gone. He smiled, believing she has eaten her food. The birds tweeted as they ate their breakfast consisting of berries. He heard movement behind him and saw the girl was standing up. She was a bit taller than him, but then he had yet to reach his full growth of course.

“Good morning,” he smiled at her. She confusedly smiled back.

It was a sight which robbed him of his previous anxieties.

She suddenly took his arm and felt his mark, stunning him into submission. Her touch was smooth and cool, soothing his skin, but there was a tingle underneath. Yet this led to his mind becoming uneasy, for he knew what the mark was a harbinger of. He took a hold of her hands and pushed them away from him. Her face curled by this.

After he ate breakfast (she once again touched none of the food) he decided it was time to continue his admittedly aimless journey. With a new companion at his side, events looked decidedly less bleak. He took her and signalled it was time to leave the clearing and the rosebush. Perplexingly, however, when he finished the girl looked to her left and pointed. Another path lined with the same botanic life as before, which he remained unaware of. “So, you want to come with me?” He asked. She looked at him blankly. I’ll take that as a “yes”, he chuckled. But he felt he could, and should trust her, and thus, with joy in his heart and her hand in his hand, he forgot about the mark and they left the clearing.

In the distant edge of the forest, a shadow could be fleetingly seen.

They travelled onward, the soft grass melting beneath their feet. As the young man felt the 

girl’s cool skin, his heart lifted, and his blood quickened slightly. The sun’s warm rays continued to beam for long hours, first as a golden veil, then fading to orange glass, until finally collapsing into darkness. A brown log they found along their path, and the boy saw that as good a place to stay the night as any. He quickly built a shelter and fire from fallen leaves and twigs upon the ground, since trying to take them from their mothers would be a fool’s errand. He was never very good at climbing, often becoming giddy after leaving tera firma, much to his peer’s infinite amusement. And it seems unlikely his companion habitually climbs these titans. If she did, then her knees are in remarkably good shape, bearing no resemblance to those of a pesky lad who suffers routine chastising from his guardian in her apron. The father usually relates to the young one’s motivations more readily. The shelter was humble but sufficient, easily blocking the sky, which should mean that rain cannot reach them. The shelter was all encompassing, easily blocking the gentle breeze from the sides, but a single pebble would probably be able to rip it down, if thrown with enough conviction. And the pair curled up on the ground. As the boy’s thoughts faded, he considered his own bed, and how curious it was that the ground was more welcoming.

He was in a house. The hearth was hot and the pot boiled with that that was slain the previous night. He could smell it. But the smell came not from the pot. It came from one of the rooms in the house. He approached the door, and the scent turned sweet and filled with perfume. He opened the door, greeted by a garden of roses walking through a tunnel. A baby bear awaited them at end of said tunnel, and when the roses reached her, the bear fell asleep, the roses picking her up and carrying her to her place of rest. The doorway swallowed the scene completely, leaving a blank wall. Drawn away, taken to another side, another time. A new door on a new wall. It slid away, revealing a sea of grey granite, on the horizon standing a statue, two faces looking opposite to one another. One was lined with fire in its eyes, while the other was crumpled in sorrow. They sank apart from one another, the sea rose. It pushed him back, the wall of grey blocking the entrance. And so he leaned against the fireplace, contemplating the dancing embers. A shadow moved in his eye’s corner; he turned, and the stairs rose before him. He climbed them.

He was in a dark hallway, not a single window, like the eyes of a bat. His eyes struggled around him, searching for salvation. He saw a door. He slowly approached it. He gripped the handle. It was cold. He continued to hold it. It didn’t become warmer. He turned the knob. He pulled the door.

Black. Crushing Darkness. The hallway was illuminated with it. He soundlessly screamed, his gaping maw hanging. And then he was swallowed. He heard the door slam. He felt thin, knife like fingers dig into his arm.

A beam of light abruptly brought him back to consciousness. He didn’t sleep well.

But his arm no longer hurt.

As his mind began to emerge from the fog, he looked over to where she was- she’s not there. Where is she? Where is she?! 

He panicked. He looked around. Trees. Grass. Nothing. Nowhere!

He ran.

He breathed.

He sweated.

He feared.

He looked around. He couldn’t find her. He frantically scurried, checking every bush, behind every tree, in every ditch. When he finally looked back, he saw he had strayed far from where he was sleeping.

He stopped caught his breath. Heard a giggle –

A giggle?!

“Over There!” he ran.

Through the trees and past the rocks he ran, until he came to the water. It was a beautiful lake, its source being a cascading waterfall from a small mountain, studded with lilacs and chrysanthemums. Ivy climbed all the way down, into the water, a mirror born from an iced diamond. The ripples spread; his eyes followed them to their source. She was splashing around, playing in the water. Delight shone from her eyes. 

For a moment he stood, still as ruby, and then he cries “What are you doing!”

He has caught her attention. She freezes, staring at him with those grey eyes.

“What were you thinking!? You can’t just run off like that! I was out of my mind with worry, I mean, how big is this forest? You could have easily gotten lost! I wouldn’t have seen-“ Then he remembered the gulf. How could he be so stupid?

She waded towards him, rising from the lake. She met him at the edge. “I-I’m sorry-“ he began

She took his arm and threw him into the pool! Its crystals running right through from his skin to his bones. He reached up to the lake’s surface, breathing heavily, shivering as lilies surrounded him and his skin pimpled. He glared at his companion. She smiled. And it bloomed. He could not recall a time he had seen her truly smile before. He swam to the pool’s edge, and she reached out her hand, and he reached for it in return. She began to pull him onto the firm ground.

He then reached around her waist and grabbed her, and pooled her into the water with him. 

Water dispersed. She gasped as she reached the surface. “Heehee!” She stared at him. He stopped. And she smiled again.

They left the pool and returned to their camping spot. He decided that it would be a bad idea to continue until their clothes were dry again, so he motioned his companion to wait for him; she seemed to understand. He went behind a tree and wrung out his clothes – what was that? He thought he saw something, for just a brief moment, a fleeting shadow, tiny and far off. “What was that?” He silently thought. He decided it must have been a hallucination. He had not encountered any animals, whether they be predator or prey, since he was cast away.

….Fantastic, now he has a craving for meat. And he hopes he doesn’t have to resort to cannibalism if they somehow run out of the woods’ bounty. “I wonder what she tastes like,” He giggled to himself. “Maybe like chicken, or lamb, or fish or – what are you talking about, this is horrible! You’re not going to eat her!” 

“…And stop talking to yourself.” He mentally concluded.

He returned and his companion was simply chasing some doves. That’s odd, he thought, since they had not even seen birds this far in. The doves shone as they fluttered away, above the trees, through the leaves.

He put the fire out before they turned in for the night. There was no moon, no stars, nothing, literally nothing could be seen. He lay on the ground and listened to her breathing. Its rhythmic pulse always put him at ease. He was watching the sky, looking for a single speck of diamond light, but the guardians were hidden or hiding. And as he began to close his eyes, he saw something. He sat up. Air whistled in his ear. It was shadow, darker than the starless sky and blacker than the colourless woods. And it left. As quickly as it came. Like some master thief. Could it have been, the being, that hallucination? Am I going mad? Is my wound still

A soft hand touched his arm. Its fingers wrapped around him. He turned his head and smelt her breath. It was cool, as though blown by a cloud. “It’s alright” He assured her.

He decided that he must be seeing things. Yes, must be. They’ve been alone for so long, of course he’d be a little paranoid. Yes, absolutely reasonable that he be a little mad.

He watched her walk behind him. She was gazing at the sky, following the birds that were flying overhead. “I wonder what birds those are,” He asked. “Pigeons, doves or-“

A scream pierced him. She had a new face. Her eyes were open, the irises quivering, her lips were parted like a ruptured tree, she was plated, her toes curled, her hands half-clenched. He followed her gaze. There was a distance. And some trees. But nothing else was visible. Did she see something?

“Are you OK?” She continued to stare. What could she have seen? Maybe it was a wolf or a bird or… No, it can’t be… “are we both seeing…” he softly spoke. “No, that’s just silly.” He turned to smile at her. “Just silly…” He tried to take her hand, but she would not budge. He found a tuft of grass, thick as the mattresses princesses rest upon, to rest upon. She occasionally turns her head, her eyes scanning the distance, the trees. Best to just stay here, he thought. For now at least.

He does not know how long he sat for. She touched his shoulder, and he looked up from the blades. She seemed to indicate that they should continue. Course, there’s no way I could know that.

And so they continued.

For a long time they walked. Why did the sun not set? It burnt into his brow. The leaves grew thin, letting thicker rays pass. Water had been difficult to find for a little while; he had mostly subsisted on the juice of fruits, but they could only parch the throat so much. He feared that unpleasant things must be done for survival. It was then that a great darkness came upon him.

He stared at the great structure, a humongous tower, jutting outward from the earth, cowing the trees and defying the Sun. Brick by brick it stood, each block identical, perfect and smooth. He touched its wall, and it felt cool. She stared at it, slightly agape. His heart began to race. There were no doors leading within. He circled around several times to check. “Who built this?” he breathed. She continued to stare upwards. He wondered what had caught her attention so. He stared up at the tower, seeing nothing but bricks. But… wait… what is that? Some… some speck… He had to get a better look. He found himself a particularly tall tree and climbed it. He made sure to keep her in his sights at all times as he was climbing. She continued to stand. After reaching the top of the tree, the companion looking very small indeed down below, he returned his attention to the tower once more. At the very top of the building, there seemed to be an opening. A window. Unlike the windows in his home village, this did not seem to have a door to close, but it was too far away to tell. All he could see was an entrance leading to darkness. He wondered if someone was in there, living, maybe, but who would at the top of such a tall tower with no doors to get in and out? If the occupant wanted to leave, they’d have to let down some extremely lengthy cord or rope! Imagine if a relative or neighbour came to visit, they’d have to shout “let me in” and the owner would let down something for them to climb up on. Hardly practical. Not even the richest are so foolish and extravagant! He giggled slightly at such thoughts, and stopped. He suddenly felt as though he were being watched, as though someone, some being were at the window right now, and was looking out, down at him. “I… I’ve got to stop being so paranoid…” He awkwardly looked around himself, hands clumsily switching between branches, when he saw something odd. In one particular direction the trees seemed to be shrinking, growing smaller. Having no knowledge of the points of a compass or of the art of celestial navigation, he knew not what to call this direction but “over there” and “that way.” The trees, from his very lofty perch, seemed to be descending in a roughly straight line. And, eventually, at the end of the line, it seemed as though the woods ended. Their next destination had been set. After descending from the tree, he took her hand. She quickly looked at him, her eyes seeming startled. He gestured that they should get going. As they walked away, she over her shoulder, up at the tower one last time, and turned her head back.

The bed was dishevelled, ragged. The floor was bare stone. There were no doors. There was only a single opening. One could look out of it and see the tops of the trees and the distant grass. They were walking away, back into the trees. It closed the window doors.

The young couple had their destination. Their travels towards the boundary were short, however, for the last candle of the day was soon snuffed.

And thus sweet oblivion caressed them once more. For a few hours at least.

There was light. All things were forged from a melted illumination. There was a table and flowers upon the table but there was also a window so the flowers wouldn’t die. But then there was a person there who seemed more solid took the flowers and tore of the petals. Looking more closely, the solid one looked like a woman and even her face had more detail than the watery table. She had eyes and 

lips and a nose and freckles. She did not smile she did not speak. She simply watched as the petals were torn.

She opened her eyes. She was awake. She turned her head, looking at pale blue sky winking through the trees. She looked at his sleeping person and turned over. She slowly closed her eyes as she fell asleep once more.

The shadow watched from above, hidden by the absent stars.

The slivers of light cut their skin yellow as they neared the end of the journey. He could feel his pulse course through her palm. Soon. The path, filled red roses. They grew at their feet as they walked through, releasing their bloody pollen. 

One last time the son was saying goodbye, and, like always, it put on a show, producing colours to put Joseph’s coat to shame. And they could see it clearer. And clearer. The trees were thinning like an old maid’s mane! More space! More sights! Until, finally, free. They were free from the wilderness. Behind them lay the foliage, twigs, leaves and numerous creatures. He looked back for a good while with a toothy grin. When he turned his head, his mouth closed slightly. A great plain lay, expanding before them. Sweeping greens gathered , rolled and tumbled. There were no settlements, no sign of civilisation. And what stood dropped before them was a cliff, sharp with little footholds. He peered over the side. How are we gonna get down there? And where would we even go? He turned to his muse for a hint, but it did not seem that she had even noticed the plains ahead of them. She was turned towards the woods, her eyes frozen but her lids quivering.

He looked to the prison once more. There was nothing but trees and leaves. But why were they looking? He turned around. Where did that path appear from? He got closer. The path was wide, running down all the way from the cliff to the plains. This is what they need to use! He must have overlooked it before, perhaps he was dazed?

Wide eyes and wide mouth as he turned. She screamed.

Black smoke around her. She hanging limp, rising into the air. There was something else. In the smoke. A thin figure. One slender hand was gripping her waist. The other her chin was resting upon. It was tall. The black fog could barely be seen through. The dying light was sucked within. The veil removed details, could not be removed from the perception. All was slowed down. His heart stopped. His body froze. His arm set ablaze. It was retreating. Into the woods.

Something feral awoke within him.

With a force in his legs rarely known by man, he sprinted, bent, leapt, grabbed her hand and pulled. It felt so weak. He pulled. Pulled. She did not pull back. Her head rose tentatively. Her eyes squinted as foliage surrounded them again. And then. She squeezed. She squeezed his hand. Wind gently blew from her mouth and clouds drifted. She slipped away. The slender figure, cloaked in a starless night, retreated. On the cusp, on the threshold, the scared young man lay. Sweat. Breath. Tears. “I’m going to be alone forever. There’s nothing left.”

He cried.

The feral power returned.

He pushed himself up, thorns pricking, digging into his palms, performing their bloodletting. On his knees he was now.

“I will get her back. That is what I want. That is what I will have.”

He stood on his legs. The sun had set. And he walked. He walked and walked till he was once surrounded by the scent of the green.

But after some length of time, impossible to determine, had passed, he was drained. He leant against a tree, its dark bark cold and unfeeling. “How am I gonna do this?”

Never had this bark smelt so sweet or so suffocating. Pressing his cheek against the tree’s rough skin, his eyes became glazed, reflecting the darkness. He looked up, and, there being a large hole in the roof made of leaves, had a clear view of the sky. Naught but a single star shone, the others unable to pierce the darkness of the sky. That one star, shining alone. He wondered if there’d be some way he’d be able to see the star from anywhere in the woods. He turned to gaze up at the leaves of the tree that supported him. He gripped his arms around the trunk and lifted up a leg. His arms felt like they were about to tear as he lifted himself up, claws digging into brown skin. But they did not sever. He continued up the tree, his feet gingerly searching for a foothold with each step. He finally reached the branches, which were old and strong as though some spirit had forged them from blessed steel, and used them as steps and rungs to clamber up. He broke through the leafy canopy, a chill in the wind greeting him. He stood up on two slim but sturdy branches, a single hand steadying him in place. He beheld the star, closer than before, shining stronger still. The star dimly lit the night. Looking down, the starlight barely illuminated a dome. It was impossible to tell what it was. Fog, smoke, leaves? He passed from tree to tree, scratching his feet as he stepped. As he got closer, the dome got smaller and flatter. And smaller, until it was no more. The dome was nothing but an absence of trees, an illusion of the woods. All that remained was a clearing, not even any grass, just soil and dirt. He climbed down to investigate. There didn’t seem to be anything else. The star still shone, brighter than before. He gazed at it for a fragment, a soft wind blowing, when something soft, silky and dirty landed on his foot. He bent down and picked it up. It was a piece of her dress, the fabric covered in soil and dust. He examined it. It seemed that it had been torn off by a branch, for it did not seem be a deliberate tear. It was small. Very small. Had she been here? How did he even know it hadn’t been there from before they met? He clasped his hands around it, pushing them against his head. He smelt the scrap, clenched between two palms, as though he were squeezing out its essence. It was faint but cool. He took the scrap away from his face. He pushed his hands to the ground, and sniffed the air. There was a faint, cool scent travelling on it. How odd… The air, it guides… He was hesitant. He checked the scrap again. Yes, the same smell. But how? The scent continued to travel in the air. By a certainty he had never felt in all his life, whether in his bed or the sacred house, he followed the path the scent had travelled from in the opposite direction. He remembered when he was a child, in the time when the leaves fell, he saw his father come home from the woods, carrying dead rabbits, birds and his bow. His arrows were in his quiver. The ground was soft, and his father left the evidence of his travels. He snuck away from home and followed the footsteps into the forest. For some time he walked, making sure he followed the steps exactly. After a few hours he reached the trail’s end. Blood and intestinal fragment littered the ground, some fur here, a feather there. A nest lay on the ground; it had been crushed underfoot. He ran back home, the journey being just as long as before. When he exited the woods the sun was setting and his father was waiting. He was beaten there and then. “What if you were bitten?!”

The memory returned to him like a summer haze. It was irresistible. His stomach turned at its presence and his bones grew hard.

Continuing along the scented path, he began to stumble. Exhaustion was eating away at his muscles, his flesh. As he went on, his sight was failing him. He thought, at first, that it was the exertion causing his eyes to fail, but he soon realised his vision was fine. He looked up once more, and the sky was darkening, the little light left leaving. He had to act fast. Taking some twigs and foliage, he constructed a fire as he has done many times over his journey, and then he picked more twigs, took off his shirt, tore a strip to bind the twigs. He laid down the object, perched it against a tree, and took a stone from the ground. It was smooth and sharp, so much so he drew his own blood. He found a nearby tree and took the stone to it. Pine, I think he called it. He drew the resin from it, moving onto other trees when he could drain no more, drenched the twigs as best as he could, careful not to spill any too close to the handle he had chosen. And he took a stick from his fire, lit the resin, and a torch was constructed. Before his beating, his father had taught him of a torch’s construction, of the tree that bore the essence of the flames. It was to be used as an emergency, for the light burnt for but a short time, but it was useful for putting fear into beasts and can light one’s way. This was his first time creating such a light source at night. He tried holding the torch in front of him, but, no, this wasn’t right. The flame blinded him, he could see nothing. He tried holding it below him and to his sides, but he did not receive the illumination he sought. Finally, he raised the torch and held it behind his head. He waited for his eyes to adjust. Much better. The faint glow did not travel far, but he could at least see where he was going. Had father ever had need of this? He carried the torch behind him as he followed the scent, welcoming the warmth and the soft light.

The scent became stronger, heavier, hotter. He could taste it in his tongue, feel it on his bare chest. Where is its source? When will it appear? Trees lined the sides of his path, guarding and guiding, leading to the throne. The darkness had grown so thick. He could see nothing outside his sphere of light. The torch became lead to his arm. The heat was no longer welcoming, it seared him. Moving it further away only served as torture to his arm. The feral power. Failing. I’m never going to see her again… I don’t even know if I even care about her… at least, not really… His delirium caused his perception to tilt, swirl. All he could see was a vortex of orange and black.

Something. Something scurrying. A weak scent. Nearby. He pounced. Biting. Tearing. Blood spurting. Satisfaction. He spat out bone and dirt and other pieces of the meal he had no hope of identifying. But he was revived. He picked up the torch. He had to continue.

No. Nothing will stop him. He had no inkling how long he had travelled for. Where did I come from? From the wolf. From the bite. From that which was planted seemingly so long ago. A new life was given to him. He will not waste it. Not this time.

He followed the instinctual guidance. Darker and darker the woods became. The roots embraced each other and broke apart, and eternal dance to struggle for sustenance.

A wall appeared. The instinctual guidance faded. His eyes sharpened, looked around him. He had passed jesting trees. He was in the clearing again. The emerald grass was velvet soft. There was the rose bush. Here he is again.

Of course. He had retraced his steps. The scent he smelt was the path they had taken was but a re-treading of his steps. It must have been. The scent was made by their journey. He knelt down. He laughed. The light of the torch began to dim. Lifting his head, scanning the clearing, he thought of the dungeons where prisoners were kept, the bars of the branches, the stone walls of the trees. He had never seen one; all he knew were the tales meant to put fear into him. But he had lost fear. There was no more room for it. His journey had ended.

Should I go home. To be slaughtered, my ashes thrown off some cliff? Or should I just lie here for my end, coming together with this place which gave me peace for a little while? Yeah. I’ll give myself to our land. I’ll be with you, at the bush. Wh… why aren’t you here? I-I’ve tra-velled for so long! How dare… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I-I just-

As he approached the bush, he caught a glimpse of white illuminated by orange. He froze, then walked closer. The white was familiar. It was a foot.

I ran over to the other side of the bush. You were there.

She was sitting, knees bent, legs stretching out to one side. Her body was tangled in the bush’s thorns as though she had been bound by someone. Her arms were upheld as if begging for mercy, her body upright, her eyes closed. It did not seem she could move; the thorns were wound fairly tightly. The light shone on her eyelids. They seemed motionless. Maybe… No, not this time, she can’t be-

Her eyelids began to flutter in amber flames. She looked at him blankly.

With his claws he tore through the thorns. She was freed, her body folding unto the ground. “I… I did it!” She did not seem to be able to perceive. She was blank, but she began to stir. She finally took notice of him. She gasped. Then screamed. He backed away. “Why are you doing this? It’s me! You remember?” She started to cry. “…I’m sorry, I don’t know-“

He felt it’s presence before he felt its hand around his neck. It had come from his right, and was now lifting him from the ground. He could feel his body straining to tear from his neck, his throat being dug into by lean bones. He tried grabbing and pulling on what seemed like an arm to stop his body from breaking, but now it began to squeeze. He tried to get a good look at it, but it now had its back to the flame, and seemed to be moving away. It was just a silhouette, any features it had were illusory at best. Besides, the pressure on his neck became stronger, his vision became hazier, his hearing a swarm of insects. His arms were starting to slip from the “arm” and his bodyweight increased. He tried to call out, but the air was trapped. She will not hear him. The Summer Haze returned. The turning of his stomach. Bones hardening. He can’t let that be the last time… No… he had to see her smile again… he couldn’t… let her… be alone… not… not like…

I won’t.

A surge of pain. With the fire searing his scar, he grabbed the hand. He was trying to pry the fingers off. It continued moving, undeterred. He began kicking, squirming. A last, desperate action. Every last ounce of strength. He kicked what seemed to be a rib. No reaction. His knee collided with some sort of elbow. He could have sworn his toe hit something slimy, wriggling and soft, but now was not the time to muse over such things. His lungs were bursting, begging. His heart was cracking. “I… won’t…” breathlessly left him.

He felt the thud of the ground, legs buckling, his head falling into a bunch of mushrooms. The impact shook him of delirium; he drank in air greedily. It was as though he would suffocate us all. As his lungs eased their burns with the cool air, the world became slightly more vivid, without the foggy haze or the swarm. He heard yelling. He turned his head awkwardly.

A Valkyrie, some angel, carried his torch, swinging at it, that shadow. It attempted to swipe, to grab, but the warrior spirit was too wild, too rapid. It backed away, dodging, more and more. But the warrior pressed on. It would not relent. Its face was a blaze of fury and defiance. The shadow made a lunge. The warrior plunged the torch into the abdomen. The shadow was ablaze, as though it were tar in an inferno. Only now did the warrior back away, a hand shielding against the light, heat and fumes. It ran. The shadow, it seemed to turn and glide, but it was a pained glide. It was hunched and it almost seemed to stumble as it went between the trees. He followed its soft glow, but it stopped, the glow shook. He heard a howl. Then another. So many. There was growling, tearing, lapping. And soon, nothing. A nothingness that soon pierced by a shriek made by no mortal tongue.

He heard it all. His strength was returning, it seemed. The glow of the shadow was extinguished.

He was being approached. His saviour was coming for him. She sat down in front of him, the torch in her hand diminishing into embers.

“I’m sorry.” He began. “I let you get taken. And I only came for you because I couldn’t bear to be alone. I was scared. I went mad. I’m sorry.” She continued to stare at him. He went on. “You saved me, but I don’t deserve it. I’m selfish. Everything I did for you I really did for myself.” She laughed. Giggled.

“what”

She put her arms around him. He responded in kind. Such gentleness. They embraced each other, on the edge of the clearing and on the cusp of the path that was filled with life. Summer was passing. His arm no longer hurt.

“Thank you.” She said.


End file.
